


Into the Ashes (with No Return)

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Soul the Color of Poppies [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Ambiguous Relationships, Blood Magic, Intimacy, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, action again!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 07:06:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17762126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Boyd is kidnapped, which means that it's up to Stiles to bullshit some locator spell as a last resort.Everyone more or less finds out about the magic thing - and the Derek and Stiles thing. Whatever that is.





	Into the Ashes (with No Return)

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said last time that I wanted to include more actual blood and action and tension. 
> 
> ...This is not as exciting as that.   
> (seriously, they're one relationship step from actually just legit making out - but not talking about it at all. so difficult)
> 
> I listened to some [Fever Ray](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1UAjpQVeFc) (which inspired the title), as well as a little [Coheed and Cambria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIhRx_4MuIY). Of course, the music just gave me some writing mood, rather than it fitting the actual fic.
> 
> Inspiration this time comes from [this lovely site](http://www.witchipedia.com/planet:moon), and [a new one](http://touchofstrange-rp.tumblr.com/post/136625683163/name-tracking-spells-also-known-as-guide-spells).

                It’s times like this that he applauds himself for being prepared and thinking ahead far enough to make a spare kit to throw under the seats in his jeep – and one with more than just a blanket, some tools, and a flashlight.

 

                Because of all the shit that went down as of late, Stiles has tossed together another case of herbs and a quick list of their properties, given that he hasn’t made a copy of his book yet. He has most of it memorized, so he hasn’t really bothered, but now, in these moments of stress…

 

                No. He still knows what he’s doing. He’s been doing this for years. He’s an Inclined – magic is in his blood. He isn’t going to screw this up.

 

                That being said, he is _so_ fucking glad that Erica has calmed down – or, at least, as much as she possibly can, given the situation. Boyd’s been kidnapped (again), and with his and Erica’s past on that particular topic… The evening has not been a fun one.

 

                Currently, she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet in the corner, tugging at her own hair as she watches him assemble a make-shift work desk for him to practice on. In fact, they’re all watching him, but she’s at least trying not to pretend she isn’t. And, her eyes kind of zone out every few seconds in thought before they snap back to him like he’s suddenly going to have the answers in the spare moment she’s distracted.

 

                She still has some blood on her from the earlier freak out, despite most of her wounds being closed up now. She doesn’t appear to care enough to notice it, and with everything on their plate, nobody else dignifies it with a comment, either. If Stiles wasn’t already used to using blood for himself all the time, he’d think this new lifestyle would quickly have made that image seem pretty normal to him anyway.

 

                Derek comes back with a piece of the shirt that was left at the scene of the crime. It’s all they have of Boyd right now. When he hands it to Stiles with a tense grunt of, “Here,” he doesn’t move away from where Stiles is still setting up at the table. Stiles hadn’t really expect him to.

 

                It’s his presence – and the last remaining necessary piece for the spell – that it really hits Stiles that this is happening, that it’s all falling down to him. And strangely enough, that’s enough to make him feel all at once _calm_. His heart is still hiccuping like no tomorrow, but his head is amazingly clear, softer, and empty like a cloud. His usual Adderall is nothing compared to this.

 

                Okay, so. The spell. He can do this.

 

                He doesn’t have his bowl, the one he always uses, but Derek had pulled out a painted ceramic one that Stiles didn’t even know he had, and it will do. It has to. He places it next to the stack of maps and beside the herbs. He doesn’t have a spell with him this time, but it’s alright because he’s gotta make this one up as he goes, anyway. See, he doesn’t really have a spell for tracking down a person, so he’s going to have to modify an older location spell as it is.

 

                That’s why it’s kind of important that he is able to keep his head right now.

 

                Stiles cringes when he has to pull out the lighter.

 

                Next to him him, he isn’t sure if Derek’s shoulders bunch up or not, given how tense they already were. Even so, Stiles mutters out, “Sorry,” as he lights the tall, white candle for the spell. He’d wanted to tell Derek to sit this spell out, but he knew that even if this wasn’t about a pack member or an emergency, the man still wouldn’t step back either.

 

                Derek is as stubborn as he is damningly curious.

 

                This close to the candle, it only smells like heat and he catches tiny wisps of smoke with every inhale. It reminds him of his grandmother, who always smelled of cigarettes, but only lit up candles around him. Despite their various scents, they could never cover up her habit.

 

                He lists the necessary materials under his breath as he grabs them out of his case. A short “Almond,” here, a lingering “Milk…weed…” there as he fishes the latter out and into his palm. He needs things that correlate to the moon, or to wolves, to tie in the locating a _person_ part of the spell. However, he’s not going to risk whipping out any wolfsbane, and as much as he likes the smell of night jasmine, he knows it’s probably a little strong for everyone else. He sticks with simpler things, such as crushed poppy flower petals – not like their seeds, which are much more pungent.  

 

                He reaches for the torn fabric that Derek brought with him and pauses. Looking up from the candle, he can see Erica watching, eyes wide and tracking every bit of his movements as she sinks her teeth into the meat of her fist. The sight of her is that of a statue. She is entirely frozen – save for her eyes that flick up to meet his own.

 

                “This is going to smell awful,” he states, but while he’s saying it to her, he means it as a warning to everyone in the room. Because, seriously, it will.

 

                And with that, he tips a corner of the shirt into the candle fire and drops it into the bowl when it catches alight.

 

                Burning cotton and blood? Not a scent he’d buy a candle or cologne of.

 

                Almost gagging, he coughs into his fist, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Isaac raising his own shirt up to his nose to cover it. Out of the other corner, he sees Derek clenching the table so hard that his knuckles turn white. The table creaks quietly – and Stiles hurries to speak over it, lest the room’s only sound become something deafening.

 

                He starts to chant the first half of the spell, watching the herbs catch ablaze alongside the cotton. As the words stream out of him, he keeps his eyes on the bowl, but he lets his hand latch onto Derek’s arm.

 

                His skin is warm, hot even, and is distracting in a way that won’t actually be problematic for Stiles’ casting. Somehow, instead, he’d instead consider it somewhat…steadying.

 

                _Anchoring_ , something in the back of his head supplies. It’s a damn good thing that he pushes that back fast enough that it doesn’t pop right out of his mouth in the middle of the incantation. It almost does, though. Gets real close.

 

                He can feel Derek’s muscles release their own tension slowly, the longer Stiles’ hand is on his arm. He chooses to push that observation away, too.

 

                By the time Stiles is done with most of the chant, Derek is no longer gripping at the table so tightly. At this point, Stiles can slide his hand down his forearm, past his wrist, to gently pull his fingers away and guide his hand to over the bowl.

 

                “My own this time,” Stiles murmurs, and even to his ears, his voice sounds different. Not his own. Far away. It sounds like someone else is saying it.

 

                But Derek doesn’t let his claws come out to cut into Stiles’ skin. His fist closes, but Stiles fingers are still looped around his own, so he doesn’t cut himself either. His reply is more of a growl, distant too, in its own way, but soft as it is cautioning. “No. Alpha blood to beta blood, we would have a stronger pack bond to draw on.”

 

                Stiles turns to him, but Derek continues to look down at the bowl, however his eyes unseeing. Where exactly did he come up with that? He knows that it’s Stiles magic they’re working with here, but…

 

                What he said still makes sense. It could work. It _might_ work.

 

                “What does that mean?”

 

                Erica’s voice, not at all a whisper, jars Stiles from his focus on Derek. He jerks his head up to look at her, and she’s watching intently, but with a hint of hesitant curiosity tinting her impatience and concern now. She doesn’t quite look grossed out, but…

 

                To be fair, Scott didn’t at first, either.

 

                “I need some blood for my spell,” Stiles answers, quick and to the point. “Gives it the boost we need.”

 

                After hardly a second of thought, Erica nods to this and steps forward.  She wipes at her cheek where there is still bright red wetness. It smears onto the tips of her fingers, which she twists around to show to him. “Like mine?”

 

                And –

 

                And Stiles’ stomach immediately roils at that – at the thought of her blood, her life force mingling like this with his own. Not his own, not Derek’s, but hers.

 

                He doesn’t –

 

                His magic won’t –

 

                He can’t –

 

                “ _No_ ,” he bites out. She falters in her step, expression coming up splintered as if he just told her she’d have to stay back alone while they searched for Boyd themselves. But he can’t choke anything else out, can’t find a way to word it, explain himself.

 

                It’s just _wrong_.

 

                It would feel – it _already_ feels nauseating. Off balance. Not _right_.

 

                Not like the blood he already has and uses. Not like the blood that sits, untapped, ready to be spilled, right above the now ash-filled bowl.

 

                “Okay,” she says, the word hollow. She’s still staring at him. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Erica give in to something so quickly before. It has to be… be something on his face. Or his scent maybe. He likely smells like a cocktail of everything he feels: disgust and confusion and embarrassment and probably much worse things.

 

                She licks her lips, a swift, reflexive movement of her tongue that has to come away tasting metallic from leftover blood, and her gaze flicks to the way Stiles’ fingers are still curled around Derek’s. She takes a step back and yanks her head away, looking – anywhere else.

 

                A spare droplet of red goes flying across the room.

 

                Though she isn’t watching anymore, Stiles still feels very under the microscope. He feels raw. Exposed. Vulnerable. But when he chances a look at Derek, the man himself doesn’t look at all like he feels the same way. In fact, he looks less than surprised. Like this is something he already knew – about the blood, about it feeling right, about…

 

                The hands. The fingers. Held tight… together.

 

                He looks like he was expecting that kind of response, actually.

 

                Derek only gives him but a moment to drink that realization in before he’s nudging at Stiles and motioning down to the table, drawing his attention back to the real situation at hand. It’ll just be another thing he’s going to have to push out his thoughts until he has the time to focus on it, apparently.

 

                Great.

 

                Time to focus again. (It’s not as easy this time.)

**Author's Note:**

> I almost did something for Imbolc, but I think this fits better. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Have a wonderful day!


End file.
